


No More Jokes

by fire_is_my_happy_place



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: First Time Blow Jobs, First Time Bottoming, Multi, Size Difference, Size Kink, first time gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-04-29 19:23:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5139659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fire_is_my_happy_place/pseuds/fire_is_my_happy_place
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Scout realizes the reason he's been teasing the Heavy and Medic has less to do with their gayness and more to do with his feelings. He learns that he's been missing out on a lot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No More Jokes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Delphi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delphi/gifts).



So far, the Scout had tried plunking down on the couch with them, scooting closer in the flickering half-light of the television. They’d grunted and moved. He’d tried to ask for a game of chess, but he didn’t know how to play and they didn’t want to teach him. He’d lingered in the showers, drifting closer to the two of them and being gently and firmly repulsed. He’d even tried to learn a few German and Russian words, but couldn’t quite get the guttural sounds right and couldn’t quite roll his tongue fast enough. Every attempt had earned him a few pointed glares and a barbed comment in another language that he hadn’t been able to decipher, but the accompanying glare had made the point for him.

Neither the Medic nor the Heavy were interested in his company in any way, under any condition.

“Ain’t like they covered hittin’ on strange men when they were talkin’ about dates,” Scout muttered, elbows on the kitchen counter. “You’d think somebody would’ve mentioned it, but no, all I ever got was how to get chicks.”

The Spy looked him up and down, whisk stopping in the batter. “’Ave you tried shutting your mouth and perhaps listening?”

The Scout snorted. “Have you tried using the letter ‘h’ and dressing like a man?” He reached out, running his fingers along the blue ruffled edge of the Spy’s daisy-spattered apron. “That’s some pansy-ass gear there, Frenchie.”

“Were we not speaking of ‘itting on men? That makes you a pansy, no?” The Spy went back to beating air into the batter with a snort. “And who are you to complain about your mother’s apron?”

“Jeez, man, do you have to bring that up?” The Scout’s lip curled. “Bad enough knowing it without having to think about it.” He shifted uncomfortably. “Besides, I’m looking for advice. Let’s get back to _not_ talkin’ about my ma.”

“’Ave you tried actually telling them what you want?” The Spy put the bowl down with a click, the flame stuttering to life on the stove. He tilted the griddle, spreading the oil evenly. “’Ave you tried telling them that you like them? They seem to think you are making fun of them.”

The Scout stood, astonished. “What? Why would I be… I mean, okay maybe when I first came here I gave the Kraut a hard time but then I got to know him and them and it was…” His hands circled in the air, mouth working. After a speechless moment, he finally scrubbed his hand through his short hair. “Look, it’s just different now, okay.”

“Well, ‘ow were they to know?” The batter hissed on the hot griddle. “’Ow were they to know you had changed your mind?”

“Oh jeez. All right, yeah, fair point.” The Scout pulled a plate from the cabinet and lined it with paper towels. “So, like, do I just say something? Maybe I say ‘hey, you guys wanna get some chicken or something?’ Does that work?”

The Spy blinked rapidly. “Chicken? You would ask them to eat fried chicken?” The torrent of French that followed was entirely beyond the Scout’s ability to translate. When he wound down to a trickle, he switched back to English. “Have you never ‘eard of romance? I know your mother did not do this to you. She appreciates romance.”

The Scout scratched a sunburned patch on the back of his neck, staring at the irritated Spy. “I mean, ain’t they gonna feel kinda girlie if I suggest a nice place?”

The Spy flipped the crepe before answering. “These men, they are… they are a little old-fashioned and they have taste. They would not want to go eat your cheap chicken. Do not… do not treat them like the girls in your block.”

“On your block,” the Scout corrected absently. “So the nicest place in town is a diner. Ain’t good enough, right?”

“ _Oui_. If I were you, I might offer to make steaks. You are not precisely a chef, but even you can manage a steak and baked potato.” The Spy slid the crepe onto the waiting paper towels and poured the next cup full of batter, tilting his wrist to evenly spread the crepe.

The Scout sighed heavily, teeth sunk into his lower lip, and looked away. “Yeah okay, I’ll try.”

**< <<< \---- >>>>**

The next time the Medic and Heavy curled up on the couch together to watch movies, the Scout joined them. Instead of scooting closer, he sat in the nearest chair and waited, sweating and tense, through the movie. When the Heavy got up to turn the movie off, the Scout cleared his throat.

The Heavy and Medic immediately tensed, shoulders leaping.

The Scout winced. “So, ummm, like…” He cleared his throat again, scooting forward and then back again in the chair with a pained squeal from the casters. “I mean, like….”

“What,” the Medic said, acidly. “Is it not enough that you invade us in the shower, and invade our chess games? Can we not have any time together without you barging in to make fun of us for being pansies or fruits or any of the other things you have called us?”

The Scout’s hands flew up in front of his face, mouth forming a small circle. “Oh! Oh no! Oh god no,” he stammered. “No, I’m not here for that.”

“Then what,” the Heavy rumbled, voice echoing out of his massive chest as his arms folded, “do you want now?”

Both men watched as the Scout flushed and squirmed uncomfortably.

“I guess I just… I mean…” The Scout took a deep breath, his hands wringing in his lap. “I said some stuff I shouldn’t have. And I’m sorry.”

The silence in the room grew slightly less frigid.

“I been watching the two of you,” the Scout said, “and you’re both kinda… I mean I guess I’m kinda… And you’re happy together and I thought….”

The silence in the room grew incredulous. After a moment, the Medic spoke. “Am I to understand that you are interested in us? Or is this yet another of your little jokes which fail entirely to be funny.”

The Heavy’s eyebrows knit into a heavy black line across his forehead, his heavy arms still crossed tightly in front of him. “And what makes you think we would be interested in you?”

“I get it, man, I do.” The Scout scrubbed his hand through his short hair, curling forward to stare into the concrete floor. “And for what it’s worth,” he mumbled, “I’m sorry.”

Both men stared at him. “One moment,” the Medic said, and turned toward the Heavy. A spate of rapid Russian followed, out of which the Scout picked the words for boy, sorry, a question of some kind and the word for small. Hearing it made him flush anew, his eyes flicking between the Medic and Heavy as he chewed on his lower lip. The Heavy seemed skeptical, then resigned, then thoughtful. The Medic’s expressive hands flew in small gestures, his face surprised, then curious, then decisive, then slightly smug, his lips pursing into a delicate moue before smiling.

The Medic turned on the couch, the Heavy walking around it to stand behind him. “Let us say we take you seriously. What are you looking for from us? What is that you want?” The Medic covered the Heavy’s hand with his own as the Heavy gently squeezed his shoulder.

“To be honest, guys, I don’t know.” The Scout scuffed a shoe against the floor, leaving a black trail. “I mean, it ain’t like I’ve done this before. Alls I know is that I see the two of you together and it… you know…”

They waited, silently.

“I guess what I’m sayin’ is that it’s not gross. It’s actually kinda sweet. And kinda sexy. And it makes me think maybe I got some fruit in me, you know?” The Scout’s hand raised between the three of them, a pleading gesture he seemed to be unaware of making.

“And so you wish to see if you do have any”—the Medic made a face—“fruit in you?”

“Well, I mean, maybe? Or yeah?” The Scout curled slightly in his chair. “It ain’t just ‘cause you’re there. I mean, you two are kinda cute together.”

The Medic’s eyebrows flew up over the fine gold circles of his lenses. “Are you trying to tell us you don’t want us for our bodies? How…”

“How sweet,” the Heavy interrupted. “But you do not have to candy-coat for us.”

The Scout’s head went back, fingers pale on the arms of the chair. “I’m not,” he finally said, voice soft to the point of being faint, his eyelashes low over the faint blush on his cheeks.

Both men’s expressions softened.

“Maybe we spend some time together,” the Heavy said. “To see what we are like. Then what?”

“We cannot know before that point,” the Medic replied. “We shall just have to see.”

The Scout sat up in the chair, hope blazing on his wide eyes and smile. “Can I…. can I come by tonight? Or, I mean, I can make food.” _Engie keeps a stash of steaks_ , he thought. _I’ll buy ‘em off him_.

The Medic turned his head, looking up the long line of the Heavy’s body for his face. After a moment of staring at each other, the Medic’s chin tilted down. “Why not,” he said.

The Scout stood abruptly. “Yeah! I gotta go prepare, but yeah! Thanks!”

Both men watched him bound from the room.

“I am not surprised he is like us,” the Medic said, turned on the couch toward his lover. “I am quite surprised he wants to be like us. He’s spent so much time following us about, harassing us, to be entirely without interest.”

The Heavy grunted. “I do not trust him, not entirely. Too many stupid jokes.”

With a roll of his shoulders, the Medic shrugged. “We do not have to trust him entirely. We can merely wait and see what he wants.” His lips quirked. “You have to admit he would make the most outrageously adorable twink. Think of his thin body between ours—would it not be a sight?”

The Heavy rolled his eyes, accustomed to the doctor’s particular predilections. “I will wait and see,” he said drily, “before I bother to make such plans.”

**< <<< \---- >>>>**

The Engineer charged the Scout double what he’d paid for the steaks. As the boy dug, manic, through the kitchen cabinets, he missed the knowing grin on the man’s face. He’d won the base jackpot as well, the mercenaries placing bets on when the boy would finally admit that he was fascinated by the Heavy and Medic for reasons beyond mockery. He turned and left the kitchen to collect on it as the Scout lined up the ingredients on the counter.

One cast iron pan, three steaks, three baking potatoes, a stick of butter, salt, pepper, garlic—the Scout ran his sweaty palms over and over the cotton of his pants, staring at the neat line of supplies. His step-father, snake that he was, had often commented acidly on the correct preparation of food. Steaks were a particular hobby of the man, and a particular pet peeve. More than one family dinner had been seasoned as much with the Spy’s acid commentary as it was with more edible flavorings.

 _I can do this_ , the Scout thought. _I can do a damn good job at this. I been listening to that bastard for years_.

A glance at the clock told him he had a little over an hour for it and set him frantically scrubbing potatoes before wrapping them in crinkling foil and shoving them in the oven, cranking it up to 400. He took a calming breath, his hands shaking, and reached for the steaks. Remembering his mother, he seasoned both sides with salt and pepper and left them to sit for a little while on the counter.

“Okay,” the Scout said, “okay, so when ma did this, she used to….” He lunged for the garlic, swearing, and nervously chopped it into a battered heap. “And then, she used to…”

When the Heavy and Medic showed up an hour later, they found him covered in spatters of butter and sweat, staring nervously at the steaks on the counter as he carefully unwrapped the potatoes.

The Scout groaned when he saw them. “Oh goddamn it, I thought I had time to take a shower.”

 _It is too comic_ , the Medic thought, lips curling into a pleased smirk. _Look at the boy_.

The Heavy merely stood, shocked at the sheer emotional violence of the Scout’s desire to please and the apparent sincerity of it. “A little sweat,” he rumbled, “does not trouble us.”

The sudden vacancy of the base, however, did trouble him. In all appearances, they were currently alone with the boy, the rest of the mercenaries evacuating the base as if running from something. The Engineer had seemed especially pleased, making jokes that faded to a smug silence as he’d approached. The Heavy wondered, with a twinge of worry, what the joke had been and why they’d left.

The boy gestured abruptly toward the table, speechless.

They sat, the Scout scrambling up to grab the plates and place them at the table, then again for the butter. He sat, staring at them, until the Medic broke their stasis by cutting a corner from his steak and putting it in his mouth. The Scout clung to the edge of the table, breathless, as the Medic’s eyebrows slowly rose and his eyelids came down.

When the Medic swallowed, the Scout flinched, still watching him closely.

“That is…” The Medic could not stop himself from drawing it out slightly, watching the Scout flush from lack of oxygen. “That really is exquisite,” he finally said.

The Scout took a loud breath in, slumping in relief.

“Yes,” the Heavy said. “It is very good steak.”

They watched the Scout blush, looking up at them both through the thick blonde lace of his eyelashes.

“Well,” the Medic said. “Will you not try your own?”

The Scout grappled with his fork and knife, sawing a bit off his steak and barely chewing it before swallowing, forgetful in pride and a pleasure in their enjoyment that was akin to being touched. The sensation preoccupied him, making him completely oblivious to the significant glances exchanged by Medic and Heavy.

They finished the meal in silence, the Scout slowly dissolving into a warm haze at their apparent pleasure. By the end of the meal, his elbows were on the table, body draped on it.

 _How emphatic_ , the Medic thought, his imagination wandering to the possibility that the Scout would be just as emphatic in other situations.

The Heavy looked at the possessive lust on the Medic’s face and suppressed the urge to laugh. _It is fortunate_ , he thought, _that we just bought more lube_. The Medic was coiling like a spring, lust wrapping itself tightly around him to explode into action. To his surprise, he could feel it creeping along his own skin, spreading a wave of prickling awareness and heat. He rose and took their plates, startling the Scout.

The Medic stopped the Scout from jumping up again by reaching out for his hand. “Let Mischa.” After a moment of searching the boy’s face, the Medic spoke again. “That was as good a steak as I would expect to find at a fine restaurant. You really did an excellent job.”

As he’d suspected, the boy flushed, the flutter of his pulse clearly visible in the hollow of his throat. Eyes wide and glossy, the Scout looked at him, pleading silently for the praise to be true. The Medic gave him a small smile and the boy grabbed at his hand, squeezing then pulling it.

The Medic cleared his throat. “Why don’t we retire,” he said thickly, standing up.

The Heavy followed them to the surgery and through the side door, into their shared bedroom.

In the bedroom, the Scout froze, waiting for instruction or simply a cue. His apparent shyness made the Medic’s breath short, and with a deep breath the man reached for him.

The Scout let the Medic pull him close, staring at the Medic’s lower lip as he chewed his own, eyes wide.

“We will go slowly,” the Medic said quietly, staring down at the Scout’s pale face. “May I kiss you?”

In response, the Scout squirmed until he could wrap his hands in the Medic’s shirt, making a fist in the linen and pulling the Medic in.

The Heavy watched the Medic’s patience with amusement. His Medic was not often so patient, but the blushing, squirming boy in his arms was, whether he’d admit it or not, obviously virginal as snow and just as ready to be marked. He sat down on the bed and watched the Medic slowly undress the boy, only breaking the kiss to pull the shirt over the boy’s head.

The Scout cried out, a quiet little sound, as the Medic’s skillful hands pushed his briefs and pants to the floor, and clung to the man more tightly for the chill. As the Heavy watched, the Medic smoothed his hands down the fragile curve of the boy’s back to cup the small, tight globes of his ass.

The Scout shivered, the Medic’s hands like fire and honey pouring down his back as his mouth made silent demands that the Scout wanted to meet, wanted to keep meeting. He was drowning and the only thing that kept him from collapsing into a puddle was the warmth and the firmness of the Medic’s body, pressed to his. The cloth between them was a physical pain, a wrongness that ached and ran through him like a blade, and the Scout plucked at it, fumbling the Medic’s buttons through his shirt as fast as he could.

When the Medic leaned back slightly, breaking the kiss, the Scout could have cried.

The Medic turned his head slightly. “Mischa,” he said, voice trembling on the edge of a growl, “would you care to help me?”

The Heavy stood, stripping as he went, clothes flying. With a shake of his foot, his pants cleared his ankle. Naked, he scooped the Scout up, prying him off the Medic to let the man undress. The Scout in his arms froze for a moment, then reached up greedily and wrapped his arms around the Heavy’s neck, mouth seeking and finding his.

A moment of juggling in the Heavy’s arms, his mouth working hungrily on the Scout’s, and the boy had his long, strong legs wrapped around the wide wedge of the Heavy’s torso. The Medic watched from his side on the bed as the Heavy slowly inflated, cock stirring and growing weighty with need. The boy writhing in his arms made a surprised noise as the Heavy’s cock brushed his ass and leaned back.

“I… wow,” the Scout said unsteadily, looking down between them. “I mean, that’s kinda…”

The Heavy bit his lip, trying not to laugh and failing. At the sound of his booming laughter, insecurity made the Scout’s mouth fall.

“Boy,” the Medic said from the bed, his finger trailing idly in the quilt, “we won’t do anything to you that you could not bear. But Mischa is impressive, is he not?”

The Scout squirmed. “I wanna see,” he complained at the still chuckling Heavy, who gently put him on the bed and stood beside it patiently as the Scout reached for him.

“Holy Jesus,” the Scout said, wrapping his hand around the Heavy’s cock. “Who… I mean, how do you….”

It was all the Medic could do to stifle the urge to laugh. “With practice,” he said. “Lots of practice.”

“Can I…” The Scout looked up at the Heavy. “I wanna try to…” When the Heavy didn’t stop him, the Scout leaned forward, mouth stretching open as wide as he could manage to let the Heavy slide into it.

The Heavy moaned, his hands rising to cup the boy’s head, the barest hint of pressure. The Scout, with a stifled scowl of determination, slid the Heavy’s cock into the back of his throat, and gagged. Tears standing in his eyes, he swallowed, the hot muscles of his throat stroking the Heavy, who made a choked moan.

“You do not have to go so far,” the Medic said breathlessly, neck craning to watch.

With a growl, the Scout kept his throat moving, finally drawing back to breathe. The Heavy sagged toward the bed, turning himself to sit between them.

“If you’re going to do that,” he growled, “I need to be laying down. Nearly fell on you.”

“I wanna do a good job,” the Scout said stubbornly, his lower lip protruding unconsciously. “I wanna… I wanna be good at this.”

The Medic leaned over the Heavy, reaching for the Scout’s neck. “Good boy,” he said, lips pressed to the Scout’s ear and eyes on the boy’s cock, which jumped.

 _As I thought_. The Medic smiled and kissed the boy lingeringly. The Scout jumped when the Heavy reached for his cock, running his fingers gently along the underside.

“Very good boy,” the Medic crooned. “Keep doing what you were doing.”

With a hand on the Heavy’s chest, he helped the Scout push the Heavy down. When the boy didn’t object, the Medic kept his hand on the back of the boy’s head as the Scout knelt between the Heavy’s knees and bent down.

“Let it be messy,” the Medic said, looking down at the messy part on the back of the boy’s head and how small his head seemed against the Heavy’s hips. “Don’t swallow yet. Get your chin wet.”

The Scout responded, his lips sagging open to spill liquid down the Heavy. The Heavy moaned obscenely as the boy’s head started to move, the wet sound of sucking filling the room. The Medic’s fingers tightened on the Scout’s neck as it worked for the pleasure of feeling the muscles move as the boy’s head bobbed. “Use your tongue,” he instructed. “Don’t just move your head. It takes more than just a mouth there.”

The Scout complied, tongue tugging at the Heavy enthusiastically as the man filled his mouth to aching, tongue weighed down by the sheer size of the cock in it. There was something terribly sexy in it, in the huge man laid out in front of him, reduced to sobbing moans rising in pitch, the muscles standing out and fading as his head moved. It was fascinating, watching the powerful man reduced to higher and higher pitched, breathless sounds, tension in waves that ran up and down his torso.

The Medic was painfully hard, fighting himself to stay sitting, not to stand and walk behind the boy, not to bury his tongue in the boy’s ass and feel him melting around it.

It took the Heavy’s fingers dug into the Medic’s hand to get the boy to stop.

“Do not want to come yet,” the Heavy panted. “And boy is very… determined.”

The Scout looked up at him, lips swollen and red, cheeks flushed. “But I want to know,” he complained. “I wanna feel it.”

The Heavy laid back again without a word, one hand digging furrows the Medic’s thigh where in lay against him. The Medic chuckled, his hand following the Scout’s head down.

Seconds later, the Heavy left a matched set of bruises on the Medic’s thigh, roaring as he came, thumping the Scout’s tongue.

The Scout made a face but swallowed the bitter, strangely thick liquid in his mouth. He pulled back, looking at the Heavy—sweating, eyes wild, the man lay utterly passive. Head cocked in thought, the  Scout leaned forward to lick the last dribbles off the Heavy, carefully watching the man wince, oversensitive.

The Medic tisked. “Be nice, boy.”

The Scout looked at him, lips already pouting, and the Medic’s eyebrows shot up. _A brat_ , he thought. _How fun_. “And now, boy, there is something I want to do.”

The Scout watched him nervously but laid down at slight pressure against his chest, then turned over, looking over his shoulder with a mix of anticipation and mild fear.

“Oh don’t worry,” the Medic chided. “I’m just going to lick you. Would you like Mischa to hold you? You may find it a bit overwhelming if this is your first time.”

At the boy’s nod, the Heavy rolled over, pressing his body in a line against the Scout and capturing his mouth for a kiss as the Medic gently pulled the Scout’s hips up. The Scout cried out in the Heavy’s mouth as the Medic leaned forward, spreading his cheeks with two thumbs. He cried out again, shaking, as the Medic’s mouth opened, his tongue feverish and slick against the tight pucker of the Scout’s ass.

The Medic had to let go of the Scout’s cheeks and hold him up, the Scout’s knees too weak to support him as the Medic’s tongue probed him. It was everything and better than the Scout had ever imagined—to be helpless, to be held up as a tongue worked its way into him and a line of current spilled up his back, burning.

The Heavy sat up, reaching out to take some of the weight off the Medic’s wrists, and wrapped the Scout’s arms around his neck. The kiss broken, the boy made sobbing scream, his hand hanging between them, knees convulsing where they lay lightly against the bed. When the Heavy touched him, he came immediately with a soundless scream.

They let him sink to the bed, twitching. The Medic wiped his mouth on his forearm, looking down at the boy with satisfaction on his face. “Interesting, isn’t it, boy?”

The Scout lay there, stunned, as the Heavy started to trace slow, gentle patterns on his chest.

“Surely,” the Heavy said wryly, “you aren’t done yet.”

The Scout shook his head and took a gulping breath. “That was… I never imagined it would…”

“There are greater delights,” the Medic said.

“I want everything,” the Scout growled, already stirring again. “Everything. More.”

“Hungry little boy,” the Medic growled back, leaning forward until his face was inches from the Scout. “Don’t ask for what you can’t take.”

In response, the Scout reached for him, wrapping strong fingers around the Medic’s aching cock. “I can take anything you dish out,” he said, squeezing until the Medic gasped and pried his fingers away.

The Scout rolled over, waggling his ass at the Medic. “Bring it on, you damn fruit.”

At the crack of a slap on his ass, the Scout gasped. Over his head, the Medic hissed. “Be good, boy, or I won’t be.”

The slowly fading handprint sent heat and shock through the Scout, who merely came up on his knees, presenting himself to the Medic in a way that felt oddly natural.

“Brat,” the Heavy said over his head. “Should have guessed.”

“What, there’s a name for this, too,” the Scout asked, his cheek pressed to the sheet.

“Yes,” the Medic said, taking the lube from the Heavy. “Tell me, boy, how does it feel when I spank you?”

The Scout sighed before answering. “Like… Like warm and it’s….” He could not finish the sentence, unable to speak the rush that filled him when the Medic spanked him again.

“And this,” the Heavy asked, manacling the Scout’s wrists in his huge hands and squeezing until the boy squeaked.

They could both see the answer, the Scout’s body going boneless in pleasure. The Medic looked over the line of the boy’s back, following it to the Heavy. “Well,” he said, voice deep and curling in pleasurable anticipation. “What a pleasant surprise.”

The Heavy grinned at him before looking down at the Scout. “We’re going to hurt you boy,” he rumbled. “But you will like it.”

The Scout’s eyelids fluttered down, heavy, and a satisfied little smile curled the visible edge of his lips as the lube clicked open. A million times better than any of his frantic little fantasies, a billion times better than he’d imagined, laying awake and stroking himself with anguished violence as he tottered on the edge of sleep.

The Medic’s fingers were firm on him, stroking the seam where his ass joined his legs and sinking anticipatory trills into the nerves. Slowly, slowly they stroked closer, and then away, cruelly just skirting the already fluttering ring of muscle in the Scout’s ass and then away.

It was not until the Scout looked up, his eyes glossy with tears and accusatory, that the Medic finally let a fingertip brush and then press against that ring. The Scout tried to back into it to have it pulled abruptly away.

“Be good,” the Medic chided. “Or I will stop.”

The Scout stilled with a whine, letting the Medic’s fingers go back to their painfully slow breech of him, to their incremental movement in. He dug his head into the mattress, ready to sob, as they finally slid past the second ring of muscle and into him, then stilled.

“Hold him tight,” the Medic said.

The Heavy’s fingers tightened to bruising as the Medic’s finger hooked and pressed a spot that made the Scout scream, the darkness behind his eyes littered with stars and his spine a line of current. He could barely hear the Medic speaking.

“That, boy, is your prostate,” the Medic said to the shuddering boy, whose head turned so that he could scream again as the Medic’s finger stroked it. “Do you know what’s fun about it?”

The Scout, completely overcome, simply stared, single exposed eye white-rimmed.

“When I fuck you,” the Medic crooned, “this is what I press against.” His finger stabbed up suddenly, ungently, against it. “Did you imagine that? Can you imagine what it will be like to be pressed against the mattress, with nowhere to go, as I keep stroking that mercilessly, as you scream?”

The Scout went boneless, hunger roaring in him. The Medic chuckled, pulling his finger back and leaving a cold vacancy. With another generous squirt, he pressed two fingers together against the muscle.

The fine edge of pain and heat in it revived the Scout, pulling him again to his knees, head hanging. “Burns,” he hissed.

“It does,” the Medic agreed, his voice light. “But it also pays off.” The muscle loosened enough around his fingers to let them move and the Scout moaned, a shameless noise.

He kept making those noises as he loosened, finally moving back and forward on the Medic’s fingers. The third finger made him toss his head, whimpering but still fucking himself on the Medic.

“Three fingers,” the Medic said breathlessly. “Good boy. This is enough for me, but not enough for Mischa.”

He waited a moment, watching the Scout’s sides heave, his head down again.

“Here’s what I want, boy. I want you to tell us you want this. I want to know that you want me to fuck you. I want to know if you want us to use you. Would you like that?” The Medic pulled his fingers regretfully from the Scout and waited. At a look, the Heavy pulled his fingers from the runner’s wrists.

They waited until the boy looked up, his face flushed, panting open mouthed. The Scout swallowed and shook himself, then spoke. “I want everything,” he repeated. “I want to try everything.”

The Medic leaned forward, capturing the Scout’s chin with his clean hand. “You have a responsibility,” he said seriously. “If this is too much, you must say so.”

“Did you want me to beg,” the Scout said belligerently, glaring at him. “Fuck me.”

With a filthy grin, the Medic knee-walked around him. The Heavy wrapped his hands around the Scout’s wrists and watched his lover position himself between the Scout’s legs, slicking himself up, then lining himself up.

The first push was slow, the Scout twitching, his head tossing with every centimeter the Medic slid into him. Words were gone, burned out of his brain entirely with the burning, demanding pressure of the cock sinking into his ass. The Medic was demonic, terrible, stretching that moment into an eternity that the Scout worshipped and hated him for, unable to do anything but shake, nerves screaming.

“Your ass,” the Medic moaned, “is so tight. _Mein gott_.”

By the time the Scout could feel the Medic’s hips pressed tightly to his ass, he wasn’t sure he had a brain anymore, just a million nerves feeding fire and pleasure to him until he thought he could explode, flying into nothingness. If the Heavy had not been holding his wrists, he might have dissolved into flames.

“Good boy,” the Medic panted.”So very good.”

The Scout wanted to cry as the hips moved back, a vacancy that he would have done anything to fill. He tried to chase them, but the Medic’s fingers dug into his hips stopped him.

“Be still, boy. Let me.”

Head still down, the Scout froze obediently, still shuddering.

Still slowly, the Medic advanced and retreated. The Scout thought he was going to go mad, that something in his mind was going to fracture, the Heavy’s bruising fingers the only thing tying him together.

Somewhere, distantly, he heard the Heavy laughing and the smack of a kiss.

When the Scout loosened, the Medic sped up, watching the shock and pleasure of his cock conduct the boy’s spine—up and down, writhing side to side, the noises pouring out of the Scout’s mouth losing anything resembling human diction. The Scout’s ass squeezed, shook, sucked at him, grasping, pulling, the boy flopping forward and coming up, bucking against his hips.

“Wild ride,” the Heavy asked, watching the Medic’s eyes roll up in his head.

The Medic cursed in German through clenched teeth, spit flying, unable to remember how to translate himself into English. The bellow he made when he came was bull-like, his face brick-red and hips jerking wildly.

“ _Fick_ ,” the Medic finally said, chin still pointed at the ceiling. “Fuck.” He stayed there, chest laboring, for a moment before looking down at his lover, eyes rimmed in white.

The Heavy grinned at the Medic’s expression, enjoying the normally reserved man’s complete discomposure. “Good,” he asked.

The Medic merely stared at him for a moment before looking down at the collapsed form of the Scout. “Boy,” the Medic panted. “Boy, do you think you could handle more?”

The Scout wearily climbed up on his elbows. “You’re killing me,” he whimpered. “But fuck, yes. I can take…” He couldn’t finish the sentence. The Medic stroked back and forth once more, driving speech out of him.

“For this,” the Heavy said, “you may wish to sit in my lap and take your own pace.”

The Scout cried out as the Medic slid out of him, but gamely climbed over to the Heavy’s lap. The Heavy leaned back against the headboard, letting the Scout fumble beneath himself to find and then align the Heavy’s cock before sinking down on it with a gasp that turned into a howl, tearing itself from his upturned throat.

“Don’t hurt yourself, boy,” the Medic panted, laying on his side to watch the Heavy’s cock disappear inside the Scout’s stretched, reddened asshole.

The Heavy merely hissed at him, wrapping huge hands around the Scout’s slim hips and glaring over his shoulder. At the sound of a whimper, his attention transferred back to the Scout, whose face was wet with the tears spilling out from under his clumped eyelashes.

“Boy,” the Heavy rumbled, eyebrows knitting together in worry, “do not hurt yourself too badly.”

In response, the Scout opened his eyes. “Oh my god,” he panted. “Oh my fucking god.”

“You do not have to—”

The Scout cut him off by moving again. He was coming apart, split in half by the sheer size of the cock buried inside him, the ridiculous, demanding pressure of cutting him open. He did not care. He wanted, needed to feel it splitting him in half, needed to feel the Heavy’s huge body in his, needed to feel the man’s cock jerk as he came, spilling heat over the abused, swollen walls of his ass. He needed to milk the man dry, his body tiny in the Heavy’s arms.

The Heavy made a noise akin to a grunt and a sob and shifted his hips, digging heels into the mattress to come up harder, oblivious to anything but the slick heat that demanded he spill himself into it.

Both were startled when the Medic scooted forward and wrapped his arms around the Scout. Lips on the boy’s ear, he pressed his body against the boy’s back. The Heavy squirmed, letting the Medic settle his thighs around the boy so he could lift the boy up and impale him again on the Heavy.

“Tiny little boy,” the Medic said in the Scout’s ear. “It looks like he’s going to split you in half, that huge cock disappearing in your tiny little ass.”

The Scout shook, overwhelmed, and the Heavy joined him. The Medic smiled, his arms pulling the Scout up and down on the Heavy’s cock. The Scout went limp in his arms, letting the Medic fuck the Heavy with him.

“Is it going to split you in half, boy,” the Medic panted, looking at the lost expression on the Heavy’s face, the heat climbing it. “Is his cock destroying you? But you like it this way, don’t you?”

In response, the Scout merely cried out, his body flopping backward over the Medic’s shoulders. The pressure inside him grew again, the Heavy’s cock throbbing. He was a doll in their hands, unable to do anything but keen as he was moved.

The Medic reached around him, wrapping his hand around the Scout’s cock. In his ear, the Medic hissed, “Good boy. Good little boy. We’re going to train you to take us both some day, stretch you open until you can take us both.”

The Scout sobbed as he came, orgasm knifing up his spine like a killing blow.

The Heavy came seconds later, the boy’s rigid muscles milking the orgasm from him until he was dizzied.

 The Medic pried them apart, leaving the Scout cold and empty, then gently pulled the Scout until he lay face down between the wrung out form of the Heavy and the curve of the Medic’s body.

The Scout simply collapsed, nearly fainting, letting the man’s skillful fingers stroke him closed, wringing the last spangling fireworks of pleasure out of him as the thunder of his blood slowed in his ears. When he could think again, he turned his head. Laughing wearily at himself, the Scout said, “I ain’t never been this speechless.”

“I know,” the Medic purred.

The Heavy rolled over, looking at the small, supine form of the Scout. The Scout shivered as one of the Heavy’s hands stroked down his spine to join the Medic’s hand on his ass. Both men dug their fingers in for a moment, hands engulfing his ass with a warm frisson of pleasure.

“Guess that settles the question,” the Scout said, his back arching up toward both men’s hands.

“Settles a few questions,” the Heavy agreed. “Raises a few more.”

For a moment, the Medic’s long fingers crept toward his asshole again and the Scout leaned into them, body tingling in anticipation of more.

“Can we do this again,” the Scout moaned.

The fingers stopped and his eyes flew open.

“Turn over,” the Medic said, and the Scout flopped over with a faint tinge of disappointment.

“No more ‘fruit,’” the Medic said sternly. “No more of your jokes.”

The Scout grinned unrepentantly. “For more of this? Hell, yes.”


End file.
